


Gilded

by ManyHappyWidows



Category: Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Gen, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Content, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:20:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29531175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ManyHappyWidows/pseuds/ManyHappyWidows
Summary: An out of order collection of scenes from my Kipo AU, taking place after Hugo sacrifices himself to save his family.Here in the birdcage, he is safe and loved, but how did he get here? How does he get home? And does he even want to?Sofi seems to love him, but who is she?Mostly this is working through all of his trauma and learning to fill the gaps in his life that are missing from growing up in isolation, becoming a madman, and discovering his true self only days before his death.And yes, a lot of this is dirty af. After all, Hugo reached sexual maturity in isolation, and by the time he became Scarlemagne, he was running on equal parts vengeance and sexual frustration.These chapters will eventually get put in cohesive order but you can enjoy their interactions as one shots for now.I love this monkey man so hard I had to make him his own OC so that he could have a little bit of happiness.
Relationships: Scarlemagne | Hugo/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 5





	1. Unforgettable, too

**Author's Note:**

> In which Hugo lets Sofi groom more parts of him.
> 
> This is at some point in the middle of the timeline, after he's begun to trust her to touch him.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hugo gets a surprise.

Hugo's eyes lit up when they landed on the piano, and his gasp lodged itself in his throat. It was all he could do not to sprint toward it like a child in the grips of mania, though timidity quickly spread over him like a hundred pound blanket. He approached cautiously instead, running his fingers across the perfectly crafted edges and corners. 

"A Bösendorfer," he whispered breathlessly. He glanced over his shoulder at Sofi, fluttering in the doorway with a hopeful expression. She nodded.

"Do you like it?" She asked, head tilted like a curious puppy.

He had no idea how to respond. 

It had been a great many years since he had cried, but tears threatened him now. He choked them back. Instead, he pressed his face to the black, polished spruce. The cool wood felt downright angelic against the skin on his snout and brow.

Then, clearing his throat, he righted his shoulders and gestured for Sofi to join him.

She was at his side in a blink, small arms encircling his waist, precious fingers resuming their tireless work of scratching and stroking beneath his fur. Until now, he couldn't survive more than a few minutes of her grooming--not that he disliked it, quite the opposite. It was far too much pleasure for someone who had been starved for physical affection all of his life, his needs used against him like a weapon. The sparks that popped and sizzled his nerves under her fingertips _did things_ to him that he could not begin to comprehend, and so he often pushed her away - but not this time. Somehow, the sensation of ivory, iron, and spruce under his slender hands was grounding. Like a mother's embrace. 

"Franz Liszt spoke highly of the Bösendorfer," he said softly. "He said it was the only piano he couldn't destroy with the ferocity of his performances." 

He circled around to the keys, Sofi hopping along behind like a feathery appendage. He reached out and lovingly struck a single key: middle C. The sound filled his bones; the echo spun and bounced inside both the piano and his chest. He stretched his pinky to reach the A, sliding it off the key gracefully. Again, the reverb in his body turned his ribs into a xylophone, and Sofi's talons drawing neat little circles into his belly fur was the harmonic to each plink, plunk. His shirt had fallen open, it seemed. The silk tie hung loosely from one loop. 

A yellow eyed china doll face peered around his elbow to grin up at him. He couldn't resist a return grin, and even though his was awkward and down-turned, she understood.

"You do like it!" She exclaimed, as though there were any other possibility. 

"I like it very much, Sofi, yes," he admitted in earnest. 

"Come, come!" She squeaked excitedly, pulling his much larger hand by several of her tiny ones toward the bench. "Play me something, petal."

He took a seat and she settled in beside him, leaning her head into his arm. She gave him a wide eyed, expectant look that made him blush bluer in his mane and face. The desire for praise coursed through him as sure as the blood in his veins. He knew it, though would never cop to it, especially now that he had no opportunity or desire to be in a position of power. The craving for idolship was a point of contention with himself now, a dark secret he buried, but Sofi was like a dog after a bone, always. She had a way of unearthing skeletons with a tenderness he knew he didn't deserve. 

Still, he couldn't resist the first few bars of Moonlight Sonata. 

He paused after the first phrase, taking notice of the little sunbeam at his side. Her eyes were closed, bottom lip between her teeth, so he risked a smile. 

"This piano has 92 keys," he remarked, pointing out the extra blackened keys at the low end. Her voice came now only inside his head, to the melody of the second phrase of the piece. 

"If I could give you all the keys in the world, petal, I would." 

Hugo retracted his hands from the ivory and tentatively took hers. Her sunny eyes flitted open, certainly aware that this was the first time he had initiated physical contact of any kind. He averted his eyes and released her immediately.

 _Stop this at once, Hugo. She could never be yours._

Only his voice remained in his mind now, mocking him for his momentary weakness. She touched him, not the other way around. She was performing a task, that's all. And she had given him this beautiful gift...He had no right to assume she was accessible. He felt less than an inch tall. 

"Where… How… Did you get such a rare instrument here? Up into the trees?" He asked, diverting the topic. "Your tribe, I presume?" 

Sofi pursed her lips and rolled her eyes. "You are in an entire village held aloft by spider silk, and you are concerned about a piano?" She giggled. Oh, the bells again. 

"But--" 

She pressed her hand to his mouth, her thumb lovingly tracing the outline of his velvet lips. He huffed, and a low grunt bubbled to the surface. _Don't let her see you like this Hugo, don't, for the love of all things fair and decent, do not frighten this touch away--_

If she noticed his colors deepen, his mouth go dry, the tremble in his thighs, or the suspicious appearance of his warm yet very thin pants, she did not let on. Instead, she extracted herself and began to play the first few bars of Nat King Cole's "Unforgettable." 

Most of the music from the days before the muteocalypse had been lost, but Lio had a decent personal library of more than just classical composers. Hugo had grown up with the occasional jazz, swing, and the smooth voices of ancient crooners his surrogate parents had gone to great lengths to preserve. 

He knew this song well. In fact, he knew it by heart. He took to the treble.

"Unforgettable…" she sang softly, glancing sideways at him with those inviting eyes.

"That's… What you are…" he responded.

"Unforgettable…"

"Though near or far…"

"Like a song of love that clings to me.."

_Her rosy lips._

"How the thought of you does...things to me," was his line.

 _Irony_.

"Never before has someone been more - together?" 

A stifled smile was his agreement.

"Unforgettable in every way

And forever more, that's how you'll stay.."

_Show off. Tremolo._

His fingers danced across the keys, their voices in perfect harmony cut through the rustling overhead leaves.

"That's why, petal, it's incredible, that someone so unforgettable…" she dropped her tone low, winking in time with the strange pet name.

"Thinks that I am…" his voice cracked nervously. He was losing his nerve. He heard a sour note, and realized it was he who had played it. 

He lifted his hands, frozen. He had never played a sour note in his life, and certainly did not want the first to be on a Bösendorfer. 

Sofi, as always, saw through his turmoil. She, too, stopped the song, but rapidly banged out the first four bars of Chopsticks before ambushing his lips with hers.

_Is this… Real?_

They were exactly as soft and sweet as he imagined. The mouth of a cherry blossom, tickling his whiskers and playing across his lower lip with a tiny, yet remarkably warm, tongue. At first, the bench upon which they sat became quicksand, as confusion and inhibition took hold and tried to drown him. He jerked his head back and gasped for air, expecting nothing less than a look of regret or disgust on her face, but all he saw was her hands rooting themselves in his beard and pulling him back in. 

He blindly felt his way around the kiss - such a novel concept, one with no rules and no winner or loser - and discovered a rhythm. The quicksand turned to ocean, and he let the lazy waves rock him gently before depositing him on the shore. Not bad, for a beginner, he thought, allowing himself the praise. When she finally released him, every hair on his body stood at attention. 

When the silence reached its loudest roar, Sofi's lilting melody filled the space between them. 

"Unforgettable, too."

Hugo threw his body forward, gathering his tiny angel into his arms. She returned to her usual task of grooming his chest and neck, something he now realized was inherently part of her, as he folded her little satin body into his core, and wept. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one takes place near the beginning of the story overall, he's still not sure about her, but a thoughtful gift opens his mind a bit.   
> This is also theoretically his first kiss, like, ever.


	2. Night Terrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a little earlier in the timeline, when he's still terrified that he's going to hurt her and that she is putting him on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Hugo admits the depth of his trauma and also learns that he smells pretty damn good to owl-spiders.

"How did you even find me?" The exasperated mandrill threw his hands up in the air, returning to his pacing. "Not that it's any secret I enjoy your company, but when someone routinely disappears without a trace they typically don't want to be found!" 

Sofi shrugged both sets of shoulders. "I can't help it if you're scent marking."

"I'm WHAT now??" Hugo flushed blues and reds in all of his visible skin. 

Sofi fluttered to him and perched on his knee, immediately entwining her claws with his beard and chest. She offered a deep scratch that made his eyes roll back. 

"Don't you know anything about yourself, petal? Right about...here," she said, stroking a patch of discolored fur on his chest, "is your sternal gland. You're in heat, and you leave a trail of pheromone so strong I could find you in another galaxy." 

Hugo buried his face in his hands. "Ugh. Sofi, with all due respect, please just let me be."

Sofi hopped a few feet away, but remained. She sat back on her haunches and cocked her head at the brightly colored mute shaking his head and shoulders compulsively as he pressed palms into his eyes to hide his emotions.

"I really like it," she sang in his mind. 

"Hmm?" 

"Your… Scent. I like it," she sang again. Major sevenths, his favorite. "My sweet Hugo, I know you don't want me to leave you by yourself."

Damn it, she was right. She always was, though the  _ how _ was still such a quandary for him. The thought of her leaving him alone made him panic, but the thought of what he might do to her was far more frightening.

"Yes, well. I myself do not. My scent, as you put it, destroyed a great many lives. Now here it is doing the same to you, and won't have it. I will not allow it. Go, Sofi. Go and leave this old monster to his curse." 

As usual, Sofi did the exact opposite. She appeared at his side, wrapping his arm in her wings. 

"I understand now, petal. You've been dreaming again. Nightmares. You talk…" she peered up under his furrowed brow. He tried to look away, but truth was impossible to run from here. 

"Every god forsaken night," he said at last, sinking to his knees. "Someone I hurt. Someone I… I've done such terrible, horrible things, Sofi. I deserved none of their mercy. And none of yours." 

"And yet, you cry out for me in your sleep," she whispered into his fur. Her hands busied themselves combing and smoothing the soft dark hair of his shoulder. 

"Do I?" He asked, genuinely taken aback. 

"Every night," she sang in leaps of major fifths. 

Hugo came to a rest on his tail, extending an arm to his tiny caretaker. She eagerly climbed into his lap and began combing through his mane while he swayed gently back and forth. 

"Every night it's someone different. Gerard. Lio, or Song. Harris." He cringed at the name. "All of those humans that I tortured and enslaved, simply because a few of them did the same to me. I'm flying with them, above the clouds, by flamingo. A piano serenades… Classics. Bach, Chopin, Liszt. And every time, it's as though we are old friends. For what little I know of friendship, we are laughing and gladsome. But then…"

He hesitated. If he said it out loud, would she finally see that he deserved it? She quelled his apprehension quickly with a row of gentle kisses to the skin between parted fur. He swallowed hard.

"Then...they push me off. I plummet thousands of feet to the cement below. Only it's not cement. It's gold. And the ground opens up. The inside is molten. I feel it filling my mouth, my lungs...I scream for help… But no one comes. And I  _ feel _ it, Sofi. I feel everything."

Scratching nervously at his own arms and thighs, his face was now a twisted picture of agony and terror. 

Sofi cupped his head in her steady hands, holding him at eye level. Her eyes were misty, and he caught sight of his reflection in her wide saucers and scoffed. 

"I deserve it. All of it. The nightmares, the pain, the fear. If someone came along to throw me to my doom, I would accept my fate with grace and dignity." 

Sofi squared her shoulders.

"Well, not me," came her fierce reply. "If  _ anything _ tried to take you from me, that would be the last thing it ever did." She ruffled her feathers angrily, encasing the pair in a shroud of dusk. Before he could argue, she pulled his mouth to hers. She was not gentle this time. The hair on the back of his neck stood at attention as she tugged at his lips and tongue with a strength Hugo had yet to witness. That familiar longing began in his core, spreading across his nerves like tiny electric shocks playing hopscotch over his most sensitive areas. Why did he have to have so many? Mutant sophistication had done nothing for his instincts. Large teeth, larger size, literary connoisseur, and yet still a bundle of nerves. 

While his mind endlessly questioned her angle, his body loudly demanded more. He pushed back, sliding an enormously thick tongue into the recesses of her mouth and throat. She responded instantly, running laps under his lips, dipping in and out of each crevice of his teeth, until she found one of his hidden cheek pouches. Having never kept anything in there besides a scrap of fabric and the occasional mango - his favorite, she knew - Hugo was amazed by how sensitive it was to her gentle probing. It tickled, but sent shockwaves down the sides of his neck and into his chest, which heaved under her deeply laced fingers. At least he wasn't crying anymore. She giggled into his mouth, whispering that he tasted like apples.

In a moment of clarity, Hugo pried himself from her affection and held her at arms length. He scanned her face for any sign of disingenuousness. When he failed to find one, her sincerity scared him even more. 

Sofi licked her lips and gave a wistful grin. "Your perfume gets me all carried away," she purred, and the vibrations of her voice tickled him inside. 

He sighed. He  _ was _ in heat, and he wanted her so incredibly badly he could scream. But he couldn't possibly believe she was acting of her own free will. 

"There's no sense in beating around the bush, so I'll just come out with it," he said. "It's clear to me that my pheromone has unwittingly manipulated your mind, and for that, I deeply apologise. But I... care for you, and the right thing to do is to inform you that these feelings are not your own." There. He had done it. He had conquered his urges and protected her from himself. After everything she'd given him, it was the least he could do.

Sofi threw her tiny head to the sky and laughed. Out loud laughter--the rarest of her laughs, though it still sounded like bells to Hugo. He narrowed his eyes anyway, hurt that she would take his fears so lightly.

When she finished, she shook her head and returned to her never ending work of combing through his mane.

"Oh, Hugo. My sweetest tomato flower. I may be vaguely humanoid shaped, but the amount of chitin under my skin and hemolymph in my veins makes me wholly impervious to any influence that isn't my own. Don't you recall how ineffective your pheromones were against your jaguar sister? I keep telling you, but I'll tell you again. You have nothing to worry about here. Your whole self is accepted and safe….and  _ very _ much wanted." 

Hope bloomed in Hugo's chest for a single second until the heaviness in his soul stamped it out, no matter how he tried to hang on. He could not remember telling Sofi that story, though he must have. How else could she know? 

Another thing was gnawing at the corners of his mind. She had to bring up Kipo, putting the reins on his moment of joy. A low, melancholy growl passed between his lips. 

"Last night, it was Kipo who pushed me to my death," he whispered. 

Sofi squeezed the mane around his cheeks, an indication that she heard and understood. The weight of his nightmare held him in place; she made sure to hold him tighter. She squeezed until his arms worked well enough to reciprocate.

After some time had passed, she lifted her lips to his ear and whispered, "come, petal...let's get you back to the nest."


	3. King Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hugo has more baggage than he thought, and illness brings it to the forefront.

The hush of twilight fell over the hanging city. Little birds in the branches above had stopped their noise for the day, heads tucked under sleepy wings as the sky morphed from gold to pink and carried the clouds home for whatever it was clouds did at night. 

Making space for the stars.

A rare chill filled the air. Hugo wrapped the plush robe Sofi had given him tighter around his body. Usually his thick fur kept him temperature controlled the way nature intended, but this evening was different. He felt foggy and weak. His head buzzed like bees in August, and stung about the same. 

Hugo was alone in what Sofi called the sitting room, which consisted of a small library, a softly glowing lamp in the shape of a highly outdated globe, and the only proper chair in the entire settlement - an old wingback with shiny brass studs adorning the velvet upholstery. It was reminiscent of a throne, which was exactly what he loved about it, and also why he had waited until tonight to try it out for the first time. The cushion had the perfect amount of give, molding itself to his shape while still offering back support which, he hated to admit, he really appreciated after sleeping in a bird's nest for - what was it? Days? Weeks? He dared not ask. Time was measured here only by the rising and setting of the sun, and he dreaded the sunset, knowing full well what was in store when his heavy eyelids catapulted him into whatever night terrors his mind spent the day cooking up. 

The golden hour before sunset was the only time he was left to his own devices. It was, as far as he knew, the only time in which Sofi slept, although he often awoke to her curled under his arm. For all the times he pushed Sofi away, he always expected to enjoy the solitude, but instead spent it wrestling his demons and feeling guilty and alone. Her constant pawing at him was so overwhelming he would beg her to stop, only to be struck with intense cravings for more the moment she withdrew her hands. 

The sitting room hung higher than the rest of the settlement. The hulking mandrill had to climb a rope ladder to enter, leaving him uncharacteristically winded, but he was determined: He had bravely decided tonight was the night he was finally going to sit in that chair. He did revel a bit in the feeling of doing something secret and sinful, but in fact, Sofi had told him since the day he woke up in this strange place that nothing was off limits to him. He could come and go as he pleased, exploring each room any time he wished. In fact, she encouraged it. The only thing that actually stood in his way was his reflection - his personal jailer - and so the game of rebellion was hard won. He knew his every move, and constantly trying to outwit himself was _exhausting_.

The cold had permeated his layers, but he was not ready to leave. There was still gold in the sky, and the arrival of pink seemed to wake his tiny liaison reliably every night. He briefly wondered if she would know where to find him, already knowing the answer, so he hugged his knees to his chest, opened a book, and waited. If he could outfox neither himself nor Sofi, he would at least find a way to defeat the chill in his bones. 

A small yawn echoed in the entrance behind him, right on schedule. Sofi stood in the last of the golden light, her hand spun silk dress - which failed every test of modesty - markedly transparent against the receding sunlight. He was used to her disdain for vestments and her credo that the amount of energy she had to expend spinning the fabric herself was better spent elsewhere, but he was damned if he didn't need a minute of warning most of the time. Her surprise appearances on her more sleepy days were still a shock to his system. 

"Good evening, petal," she sang, low and seductive, inside his head. "You're looking quite regal tonight." 

He felt the pit in his stomach grow from cherry to peach sized as he processed the compliment. It felt like a trick, but what didn't anymore? Was she making reference to his brief reign as emperor of Las Vistas? Was this an offering of shame? 

No, this was _Sofi_. She had never offered him anything less than bliss and wide eyed sincerity. The shame was coming from the inside. Suddenly, he needed her more than ever. 

Tears invaded Hugo's eyes, as she straddled his lap and began her ritual combing of his beard. His broad chest heaved under her graceful touch, and sobs wracked his body. She licked a tear that rolled down his snout and got stuck in the folds. The brightly colored pads on his nose were tender from the cold and he winced at her hot breath. 

"Oh petal. You will have to forgive yourself some time," she purred, pressing her face into his chest. "You're the only one left who hasn't." 

How did she do that? He wondered this constantly, but it felt so… _normal_. So _familiar_. 

He stretched his robe around her tiny form, gathering her into his arms. She hummed happily in response, giving him the courage to kiss the top of her head. 

"I don't know how you read my mind, Sofi, but I don't need to. I don't want to spoil the magic of being seen. Of being... understood. I wish never to peek behind the curtain…" the words spilled out of him, a broken mute, a broken king, a broken voice - until she showed up and squeezed his pieces back together. Vulnerability was not his strong suit, but he felt he owed her the same sincerity she showed him. 

She parted his fur and kissed the underlying skin of his neck and chin before her moon shaped eyes drew his. 

"I cannot read your mind, cherry blossom, but I can read your heart," she said aloud. Then she smirked, adding, "and you know you can peek behind this curtain anytime." 

Hugo's face flushed, reds and blues and purples giving him away as usual. He wasn't sure he would ever get used to being desired, even for companionship, and yet she seemed to genuinely want him in even _more_ ways, which was simply unfathomable. Of course he felt the same, especially with her warm little curves in his lap and the koala hold with all four of her arms, but _wanting_ was not nearly as foreign to him. Every time he entertained the thought of her _enjoying_ his body's more sensitive parts he felt a pang of guilt. Admittedly, those thoughts were becoming more frequent as of late, and her flirtatious innuendo made him acutely aware that she was, and had been for a while, straddling him nearly nude. 

He felt himself strain against the silky fabric of his pants and brush the nearly tropical humidity between her legs. He bit his tongue _hard_ , determined to suppress the incoming moan. 

He was _not okay_. She had to know, didn't she? Could she really be incognizant of the torturous longing that clawed at him from under his skin? Did she really not notice the constant swelling of his groin or the colors flashing in his face and mane? Hugo's stomach cartwheeled. Only a thin layer of fabric lay between him and scratching this unbearable itch. He fought like hell to keep his hips from rocking as he recounted his list of doubts. 

Maybe she was just toying with him.

Maybe she really was completely oblivious.

She had kissed him before, and didn't even throw up when he kissed her in return. Maybe it was just part of her people's odd, hybrid mute culture. Maybe owl-spiders kissed each other all the time. Not that he'd ever seen another owl-spider, despite her common mentions of "her people."

Maybe they were all dead. 

Maybe she was just lonely and he was a last resort, a consolation prize, a useful idiot.

 _Okay Hugo, that's enough of that_ , he told himself, allowing one final whisper in the depths of his mind to suggest that maybe, just maybe, she _liked_ him. 

And maybe that was worse.

He became dizzy with panic and the urge to run, to save her from himself. Instead, he was glued to the throne, just minutes past sunset, completely at the mercy of someone less than half his size. The realization made him chuckle. Neither the height at which he sat nor the elegance of his seat could shelter him from his weaknesses; they followed him wherever he went. It only took one petite, raptor-shaped spider girl to bring this kingdom, and it's king, to its knees. 

Sofi cupped his chin, turning his face to the side to better groom his jawline with her claws. Her hands washed over him in waves of pure tranquility, redistributing his body's misappropriated blood flow, until she stopped short at his temples and gasped.

"Oh, Petal! You're burning up." 

"I resent that accusation," he mumbled. His own voice echoed in his ears as he struggled to maintain eye contact. _How many eyes did she have again?_

He was pretty sure sixteen was not the answer. 

Sofi extracted herself immediately from his robe and began fussing over him in such a way he had only known once before. Hugo's mind flashed him a snapshot of the time he had caught a cold in the burrow, just days after he had spoken his name for the first time. Song and Lio were never permitted to stay with him past eight o'clock, but Song had sneaked back after hours to read him a second bedtime story while holding a cool compress to his head. He had told her, in the grips of a fever, that he wished she was his mother, and she had assured him that she was.

Hugo was on his feet in a flash, stumbling toward the exit hatch that contained the rope ladder. His eyes wild with fear, he bared his teeth and slapped the ground, insisting that Sofi stay back. Sweat stained the collar of his robe. His throat felt raw and tight, but he managed a gutteral sound to drive his point home. 

Sofi closed her eyes, seemingly unbothered by his display. The tense silence between them suddenly filled with a sound the delirious mandrill had never heard before, and yet somehow he instinctively knew exactly what it meant. Lip smacking. Like a kiss, but not quite. Like a warm blanket of noise. An invitation to safety. A sunny spot in a forest. 

His feral rage cooled slightly. 

Inside his head, Sofi presented him with more, equally curious, sounds: Multi-toned, harmonic girneys. He was being summoned for affection, the sharing of food, the gathering of family. He took a step toward the sounds, but lost his footing. His febrile brain made a surprising revelation just before falling backward and 15 feet down through the hatch.

_Sofi spoke mandrill._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is somewhere between the second/third bit and the first. Probably.


	4. Fever King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hugo is accidentally honest

He was falling, it seemed. The rope ladder hung just out of reach as he plummeted, and his mind was too foggy for a quick maneuver. What had he done? He had reared up, bore his teeth at the person he loved. He _loved_ her. He had threatened her in a panic, and she had responded in his native, instinctual tongue with words of comfort. He deserved to splatter on the ground, just as his dreams insisted. 

Hugo filled his lungs with what he was sure would be his last breath of fresh air, and gently closed his eyes. Peace washed over his body. Once he was gone, he would never be able to hurt anyone he loved again. 

Through closed eyes, Hugo could not see the ground rising to meet him. He also could not see Sofi outrun the reaper, rocketing toward him like a feathery bullet to catch the falling mandrill in her tiny arms. He easily filled all four of them, though somehow her grip was firm and her hold soft. He peeked through his fingers to see her wingspan nearly tripled, using wind resistance to float them both softly to solid ground. 

She had been absolutely correct in her observation of his body temperature. The chill had subsided and was replaced by a fire in his bones. His vision was doubled, still. 

Sofi's eyes glowed, wildly animalistic and determined. Try as he might, he could not will his mouth to work. He knew that he had questions. He knew he owed her both apology and gratitude. But taking in the air necessary for speech made him gag. All he could do was watch, admiring the ferocity in her round face. She was on the move again in seconds, touching down with one foot before springing forth through the labyrinth of cylindrical rooms and across bridges, carrying the weight of his limp body like it was nothing. She shot from one foothold to another, doing his dizziness no favors, but navigating with expert precision until they reached the Nest. Only then did she slip his robe off his shoulders and gently unload him into the bedding he had become so familiar with. 

The pillows smelled of her hair - pine, chestnut, sweet fruit juice - and the corner of his mouth perked up. To think, only minutes ago he was in danger of never smelling these things again. 

She pressed her lips to the scar on his forehead. 

"104 degrees," she said, sharply. "Fahrenheit. 40, if you prefer celsius. Petal, why didn't you tell me you had fallen ill?" 

He was too weak to respond, but her voice held a demanding tone he had not previously heard. There was no good answer, either. The fatigue and chill that ransacked his body was just as much a surprise to him, and even more surprising was the fact that she had just saved him and returned to her affectionate fussing despite his earlier actions. He desperately wanted to apologise, to explain that his terrible behavior had been triggered by the sudden painful memory of promises broken, but what was an apology worth if it could not come with the assurance of _never again_? There were plenty of broken promises lurking in his subconscious.

"Why do you call me that?" He managed to croak out, instead.

"What's that?" She asked over her shoulder, tucking a blanket around him.

"...Petal," he said grimly. The word felt strange in his mouth and sounded even stranger.

Sofi's sparkly laughter soothed his nerves. Her busy hands made their way from the hem of the blanket to the white fur of his chest, and she rested her chin between them. 

"Well, Petal, I suppose I should probably tell you it's because I think it sounds nice."

Hugo grimaced, the gears of awareness beginning to turn. 

"But that's not it, is it," he said. "It _means_ something." 

Sofi nodded slowly. 

"I thought we might have this conversation when you were less delirious, but I'll talk you through it." She inched her way up to his forehead, bracing herself on both of his shoulders. He inhaled sharply. How was it possible that twice in the same day he found himself underneath her nearly naked body? His fever was already high. If she didn't stop tormenting him this way, he worried brain damage would not be far behind. 

"Okay. So first, what is a petal?" She asked, seemingly oblivious to his struggle.

"It… Is… I'm sorry, what are you asking?" 

"It's not a trick," she giggled. "Tell me what a petal is."

"A petal is… Part of a flower?" 

"Yes, excellent!" She chirped, clasping one set of hands to her milky chest. "And flowers, when they're finished being flowers, they often become…?" Sofi cocked her head and chewed her lower lip in anticipation. 

"...Dead?" 

"Nooo!" She arched and roared with hysterical laughter. Her tiny breasts bounced delightfully above his head. He wondered how they would taste. She had definitely wrapped his blanket too tight. The friction from her bouncing giggle fit was making it even more difficult to think straight.

When her laughter subsided, she brushed his cheek with the back of her hand. "Try again." 

"They go to seed," Hugo ventured, trying not to do the same himself. 

"Yes!" She exclaimed, getting vertical again. "But sometimes? The _really lucky_ ones, I mean? They get to be fruit for a while first." 

Her symbolism was not lost on him. Metaphors were his second native tongue - anything to avoid direct language when it came to sensitive subjects. At the moment, however, he was preoccupied by the fact that her final unwitting bounce on his chest had pulled the silk bedspread across his lower half at just the right speed, while simultaneously giving him the perfect eyefull and ideal angle of her porcelain breasts, had sent him straight over the edge into climax. His hoarse voice produced a strangled, involuntary groan of relief that he didn't presently recognize as his own, and suddenly, the bedspread was soaked. 

There was no hiding this from Sofi. The only silver lining was that her reaction would be the first inarguably clear picture of her feelings toward him. He squeezed his eyes shut and steeled himself for the impending storm. 

"Oh! Petal, I think your fever has broken!" Sofi announced, hopping down to retrieve the washing basin. He felt her soft touch with the cloth pass over his stomach and genital area, where he hung limp for the first time in ages. Bravely, Hugo opened one eye. Sofi was smiling warmly as she wiped him down, rinsing the cloth thoroughly before doing the same to his chest, his neck, and shoulders. He noticed pink droplets on his wrists and in his beard. His fever actually _had_ broken. 

This was not the definitive answer he was looking for. 

A heavenly weakness flooded his muscles. Sofi covered him again, loosely and with a lighter blanket, and handed him a steaming glass mug.

"Drink," she ordered, cupping both of his hands around the cup. "You can't fight malaise if you are dehydrated." 

Hugo took a tentative sip. Honeysuckle tea. He quickly poured the rest down his throat, feeling the tendrils of warmth stretch and expand under his skin. Was it the tea, or the rush of oxytocin he was feeling? Whichever it was, it felt like Eden.

Sofi, curled up in the crook of his arm, had drifted off to sleep while absently stroking his ribs with one claw. He watched her for a while, enjoying the rhythm of her chest's gentle rise and fall, and brushed a stray hair from her face. Her lips curled into a lazy smile at his touch, and his chest fluttered. There was so much he wanted to say, but he was not ready for her to hear it. So many times he had taken the starting breath, only to grudgingly let it out when he couldn't make the words follow. Sofi rarely slept and when she did, it was usually during the day. If he found her in his bed, it was after having been asleep for hours already, and only when the nightmares jarred him awake. If he didn't use this moment, who knew if it would ever come again? 

Hugo rested his chin on her forehead, and took a deep, yet silent, breath.

"I love you, Sofi. And I don't know why, but I think you love me too," he whispered in her hair. "You are the pigment in my flowers, the sucrose in my fruit, the hope in my seeds. I… Desire you, Sofi. Every second of every day. My heart and my soul and my body cries out for your touch and your breath. No one has ever touched me like you. Made me feel the things you do. No one has ever really…touched me at all. Not for more than a moment. A consolation. A _crumb_ , to tease what I could never have. I don't deserve it. I don't understand it. But I need it. I need you so much it _hurts_." The whispers poured from his lips and he hoped against hope they were drowned out by the wind in the leaves overhead. 

Sweat dripped from his forehead, a combination of warm tea, broken fever, and the absolute terror of honesty, and he snatched up two of her hands and placed them on the sides of his mane. His joints ached from the ballast he had just tossed overboard.

" _Hu...go_." Her own whisper inside his head echoed off the walls of his skull. " _You kept me waiting for so long…_ " The angelic soprano serenaded him. " _I love you, I love you, I love you_." 

His breath caught in his throat. Had she really heard him? To his observation, she was still very much asleep, and he was not far behind, unconsciousness chasing him down like a wild megabunny. Perhaps he had only imagined what he wanted to hear. Even so, he wrapped Sofi tightly in his arms, braiding his fingers into her hair for the first time. With the last of his euphoria, he mumbled out loud:

"You are my every dream."

As the tides whisked him off to sea, he was certain she replied, "yes, Petal." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm, more odd coincidences here. Sofi sure is full of surprises.


	5. On the Other Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we get a glimpse behind the scenes of behind the scenes.

Fluorescent lights flickered in the hallways of the old medical center. Some of the electrical engineers from the burrow along with Billions the wolf and Amy, the former structural engineer of Ratland, had rigged up a generator to cover most of the sprawling building - enough to treat the sick and to open a laboratory for the Oaks to develop more effective remedies for mutes who needed medical care.

In Room 213 lay one very large, very unconscious, and very sweaty mandrill mute. 

Friends came by here and there, though not in as great numbers as they had at the start. Jamack, who shared a love of opera though would never admit to it, came by once a week for at least a year with a portable compact disc player, still a rare find in working condition, and listened to Pavarotti with eyes closed at the bedside. He had recently found himself a companion of the romantic persuasion, however, and his visits slowed markedly. 

Wolf and Greta, who had spent the last couple of years bonding over all of the wonders in life they had missed, brought flowers and teacakes from Benson and Troy's bakery in hopes the delicious smells would entice him into consciousness.

His sister sat steadfastly on one side of his bed for several hours each day reading stories aloud from musty old fairytale compendiums and squeezing his hand.

His adoptive parents rushed in and out, back and forth, up and down the hallways, taking samples, vitals, replacing tubes and hoses and saline drips. They had long ago fixed his punctured lung and surgically repaired his broken shoulder. His ribs had healed on their own by now, and he had been breathing without assistance for several years. Only his mind refused to heal - and week by week, month by month, they battled against his brain as it tried to drop his vital functions randomly with no discernible pattern. 

An exhausted Mulholland panted at the foot of the bed, tendrils of their watery appendages still attached to the nasal cavity of Hugo Oak. 

"Phew! It's just _too_ hot in there for me, Lio Grandé!" The tardigrade collective fanned themselves with the appearance of a many-fingered hand. They wiped hypothetical perspiration from beneath their watery hat. 

'I'm sorry, Mulholland," Lio replied. "We just can't figure out what's causing this fever. Hospital acquired infections are uncommon these days, especially in mutes. His white cells are slightly elevated, but only borderline, still within normal limits. Yet his brain is cooking itself."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Lio Freeo," Mulholland cheerfully declared, "but it's like a pot of great aunties famous jambalaya up in there, and all that spice is giving this water bear a _terrible_ case of indigestion!" 

Song burst into the room, a clipboard in one hand and an oversized cup of coffee in the other. "Lio!" She shouted, eyes shining with the excited spark he saw only when she had made a scientific breakthrough.

"Shhh!" Mulholland whispered loudly. "I just got him to sleep! This water bear needs a _breather_! Ooh and one of those tea cakes," they added, pointing at the untouched pastry box on the bedside table. 

Song rolled her eyes slightly and stuffed a cake into Mulholland's amorphous body. The collective made happy munching sounds as they devoured the fancy cakes.

"What is it, Sweetie?" Lio asked, minding his decibels and peering over the edge of the clipboard. He squinted at his wife's chicken scratch.

"What we're seeing here, and here, and now here, from only ten minutes ago, are massive spikes of oxytocin in his bloodstream," she said, gesturing to various points on a graph. Lio stroked his chin. 

"But no signs of bacterial infection?" He asked.

Song shook her head. "No, the fever is still largely unexplained, but aside from this finding that seems to fall on a predictable timeline, there's something else." Her voice dropped to a whisper now, as though the recitation of her findings could erase the possibility. She guided him closer to the hallway and into a private huddle. Lio eyed her, curious.

"I know that look, Song. What amazing thing have you uncovered?" He whispered back. 

"Well," she began, gesticulating to make the words come faster, "I was doing a routine vitals check and Hugo was sweating profusely. In my haste, I forgot my protective gear and came in direct contact with some of his perspiration." 

Lio's eyes widened. "Oh my God, Song, are you all right?" He immediately inspected his wife from all angles. He leaned in with a flashlight to get a better look at her pupils. Song winced at the sudden blinding.

"Lio, stop. I'm _fine_. That's what I'm trying to tell you. I'm fine. _Nothing_ happened. Isn't that… Bizarre?" 

The pair held each other's gaze, speculating silently on what exactly this discovery meant. 

"Hoo boy, I hate to break up the party, you cute little lovebirds, but you might want to see this," Mulholland's voice cut in from across the room. 

The Oaks hovered over the unconscious mandrill's bed. Hugo stirred in his sleep, sweat pooling in every concave. Song quickly snagged a sample from the river that ran down his neck. As she dipped the vial in the pink tinged fluid, they heard it.

"I love you, Sofi. I love you."

Hugo was _speaking_. 

"Ah, Mulholland?" Lio said, scratching his temple. "What kind of a dreamscape did you give him, anyway? And who is Sofi?"

"Beats me!" The water bear answered with a flourish. "I haven't had any control over his dream for at least a year now. He's all on his own in there, and all little old me can do is peek behind the curtain from time to time." 

"But what do you see?" Song pressed.

Mulholland gave a collective shrug, and their voice echoed. "All I know is, he's happier than he's been in a long, long time. And oh! They're waking up! This bear's gotta go make a splash. You keep doing what you do best!" They called, as they disappeared back into Hugo's cranium, only to reappear seconds later to add, "oh and his favorite fruit is mangoooooo" before fading away again.

Lio and Song stood silent for a while. Finally, Song's eyes rested on the monitor above Hugo's bed. 

"Huh," she murmured. "His fever broke." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just say Mulholland is the most fun character I've ever written?


	6. Metamorph

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hugo meets Sofi for the first time.

A chrysalis. This is how he imagined it must feel. 

Encased in a blanket of cool silk yet somehow warm, licked by the sun's rays. Safe. Only enough oxygen to keep function turned on, but not enough to pass a weary sigh. 

Then the body dissolves. Breaks down. Rearranges itself into a whole new shape. Not just the body. The state of _being_. The mind changes. Instincts change. Directives change. 

The process is painful, and one must emerge from the safety of the darkness while still soft and vulnerable, into a world full of predators, and resolve to _stay alive_ until capable of flight.

Hugo Oak shot from his cocoon. Looming over him was the shadow of a beast. A great winged beast with four arms and deadly claws. 

This must be that place the old religions warned of. 

Hugo was on all fours in an instant. Overcome by instinct, he scrambled backward, keeping his arms and haunches pinned tightly to that which held his vital organs, muscles he didn't know he had warming themselves for a fight he expected to lose. He bobbed his head in the direction of the shadow and snarled. Late afternoon sun assaulted his sensitive eyes. 

Then came the bells. Tiny, tinkly bells that reminded him of the rusted out jinglers on old shop doorways. Or the kind with silver lace one might use to decorate their attire if they were feeling particularly showy. There was an odd comfort to the sound, one that felt like the invitationan to a pleasant cup of tea, with a side of longing for a faceless affection. 

Naturally, it was too beautiful to be trusted. 

Normally upright and dignified, Hugo instead arched his back and pawed at the ground, snorting a warning to whatever dared ensnare him in a web of false hopes. 

As it turned out, the bells were laughter. They ceased their echo, and the small giggles revealed themselves, at eye level, as belonging to a small woman. She, like the beastly shadow, also had four arms, long talons, and a petite set of ivory wings, along with eight eyes - two of them wide, inquisitive, and golden - and a tiny pair of rose colored lips, so delicately perfect that they ought to have been previously painted on a china doll. The rest of her was similarly dollish, with skin like porcelain glinting in the sun so brightly it could only cast a delft blue shadow. 

She was also, for all intents and purposes, entirely nude, but for some sloppily woven, transparent scraps of unidentifiable fabric that hung loosely from her shoulders. He barely noticed a solitary piece of jewelry hanging high on her neck - beaded obsidian containing a miniature golden keyhole - though this probably covered more skin than the rest of her garments combined. 

She peered directly into his menacing sneer, unfazed.

Hugo's mouth hung slack in mid growl. The strange creature turned up the corners of her lips slightly and reached a hand toward his mane. Before he could choose an appropriate response, she was gently combing her way through his beard with her talons, head cocked, examining him as though he were some miraculous prize. 

" _It's about time you woke up,_ " she said, only her lips stayed still. The sound came from inside his head, where her voice echoed off the edges of his consciousness. He blinked. 

" _Excellent! You_ can _hear me. This is so much more practical for me than pushing out sounds from my mouth_ ," she went on, folding a second clawed hand into his mane and preening deeply into his thicker fur until she reached the skin below. Hugo gasped sharply. All neurons fired at once, sounding the alarm, urging him to flee far away from this place and any minute stranger who could turn his knees to butter this way before he even knew her name. Alas, he was unable to tear himself from her fingers. Even if it was all an elaborate trap, he rationalized, he might as well enjoy the cheese before the wire inevitably snapped his neck. He sat back on his haunches and closed his eyes. 

" _Ah ha!"_ He heard her exclaim. " _Got one_!" 

Hugo opened one eye in time to catch her shove something black and leggy into her mouth. His lips curled awkwardly, mortified. 

"Did you just…?" 

_"He speaks!"_ She exclaimed, clasping two of her hands to her cheek. " _And yes. We are in the trees. A few insect hitchhikers are completely normal, especially for those with dense fur that acts as a canopy, such as yourself. Fortuitously, you have_ me _. Professional mandrill groomer, full-time pest control, at your service."_

The tiny creature raised one of her four arms in salute, extending another as an offer to shake. 

Hesitantly, Hugo lifted his significantly larger hand to envelop her tiny, yet talented, fingers. She felt like ice in his warm grip. 

"Scarl-- er… Hugo," he murmured, shaking off his mouth's muscle memory of his former moniker. He tried to recall the significance of it, but a search of his memory hit a wall. He huffed. 

Her tinkly giggle echoed around his ears. " _Pleased to meet you, Hugo. I am known as Sofronia of the Wisps, Curator of the Birdcage, your Friendly Neighborhood Owl-Spider. But you can just call me Sofi._ "

Sofi. The name danced in his brain to a familiar rhythm. Each of her words were a song, threaded together into a symphony, yet contained in a single harmonic note. An anomaly - such as it was identifiable in this sea of strange - to hear the plink of a harmonic before a note was played, as though she herself were nothing more than musical residue. 

Already she was grooming him again, a pink, clover shaped tongue at the corner of her mouth a testament to her dedicated focus. He felt the flood of warmth in his bones radiate to the tips of his fur, undoubtedly changing its color from olive to blue, and flushing his already vibrant mouth and snout. It was _good. Too good_. 

Hugo came crashing back to sanity and abruptly darted away, leaving Sofi's hands hanging in mid scratch. 

"Where am I?" He demanded, bitter with himself for allowing her to lure him into complacency. 

Sofi turned and spread her arms wide. He caught sight of a pair of spinnerets behind the sheer fabric of her dress - if one could call it that - but aside from that, the extra set of shoulder blades, and the short, feathery appendages, the back of her appeared remarkably human.

" _Welcome, Hugo, to the Birdcage!"_ She sang happily. Noticing his scowl, she added quickly, _"it's not really a cage. You're free to come and go as you please, or explore at your leisure. The name is derived from an ancient human contraption, once used to hold birds prisoner back when they were much too small to resist. Today, my people have repurposed the word in the name of freedom, but kept the design for it's functionality and the safety it provides. Come have a look!"_

Sofi shot a glance over her shoulder at the bewildered mandrill, inviting him to join her at what looked like the rim of a large bowl surrounded by overgrowth. 

Hugo gave himself a moment to process his surroundings, taking an inventory of all possible exits. A heap of silky bedding lay in the center of the concave floor from which he had awakened only minutes ago, though it seemed like days had passed. The ceiling, also concave and glinting gold in the sunlight, gave him the disorienting perspective of being between two spoons. All of it was held precariously together by the branches of a tree, creating a tall, cylindrical living space that swayed gently in the breezes. Sunlight played across the ever rustling leaves that cradled the room, leaving very little sky to be seen. 

_Deciduous_. The word appeared in Hugo's head. His sister had taught him that. 

Kipo! Her face flashed across his mind's eye. How long had it been? Was she here too? Was she safe? The last time he had seen her was…

Blocked. The memory was there like a word on the tip of a tongue, but surrounded in a watery haze. He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing hard on turning the blurry picture into one he recognized, but something pushed him backwards, out of his head, with a splash. 

Meanwhile, Sofi was growing impatient. She was already gently leading him by the hand back to the edge of the room, and he, unaware, had been blindly following. 

" _Put your hand here,"_ she told him, directing his hand to the space between two large stabilizing branches. She pressed his hand into what felt like silk mesh - both fragile and indestructible. Breezes passed through it with ease, and even a swirl of discarded vermilion leaves, but as far out as she pushed his hand, the mesh showed no signs of breakage. 

He gazed down at her, mesmerized by her insistent touch, and raised an eyebrow. 

" _Made it myself,"_ she said proudly, stroking the tops of his knuckles. " _Every room in the birdcage is protected by my silk. Outside, it reflects the forest. No one can see in unless they know how to look. Inside, it keeps us temperate and dry, as well as keeping anything that belongs out there from getting in here. In other words, you are safe here, Hugo Oak."_

"Spider silk?" He asked, trying to hide the amazement in his voice. 

Sofi shrugged. " _Something like that. Wisp silk, really. What my people are. Spiders, owls, what's the difference really?"_

Hugo could think of plenty of differences, but decided, as a formality, to let her have this one.

" _This room, I call The Nest. I made the blankets as well!"_ She chirped, hopping down into the concave and wrapping herself in the soft bedding. _"I also took the liberty of spinning you the clothes you're wearing. I hope they're to your liking. It was hard to get a proper measurement while you slept, and your old clothes were practically fused to your body."_

Hugo took notice, for the first time, of the foreign habiliments. Perhaps not as regal as he was accustomed to, but invariably the most comfortable thing he'd ever worn. Blue silk with gold lining, exceptional craftsmanship, though the trousers were a bit on the translucent side. Air flowed quite easily which was, admittedly, a welcome exchange for the pair of bloomers he had chained himself to for so many years. 

This small creature, whose face he had never known before this day, had crafted these with _love_. She had watched over him, cleaned him, measured him, and _created_ for him. 

Why?

Something was missing, but a search of his mental database only yielded a hole where the answer should be. His pulse quickened with the realization that whatever it was was terribly important. 

" _Check the breast pocket,_ " came Sofi's lilting voice. 

Hugo frantically patted his pocket until his hands recognized a soft, comforting lump. Inside was a remnant, dark blue with yellow stars. _Starry night._ He breathed a sigh of relief. He knew this scrap of fabric was priceless, though the _why_ still hung in the air as gracefully as the room in which he stood.

"Thank you," was the only reply he could think of. He tried not to say it grudgingly, but old habits...

_"It was my pleasure. Truly. You have a very pleasing shape,"_ she answered earnestly. He blushed a deep blue at the compliment. She had already seen more of him than he had of her, and he wasn't even blessed with the memory to show for it. If she had noticed his reaction, she gave him no sign. Her face was as sincere as the moon, and just as round and idyllic. Enormous eyes pleaded with him for trust, and he found himself wanting nothing more than to curl up in her lap forever while she combed through his fur. 

" _Shall I show you around further?_ " She offered, extending two hands in his direction. Through no will of his own, he all but floated into her embrace like a puppy desperate for praise. She took his hands, sliding her talons up into his sleeves and rewarding him with an elongated scratch down his forearms at skin level that stirred something agonizingly familiar in his core. Familiar, in that he was a mammal with the same built-in urges of all other mammals; agonizing, in that his entire adult life was lived under the shadow of knowing he would never experience such things. He tried not to whimper, but it was between that and controlling the rest of his body. A light hoot escaped his lips, and for some reason, she _smiled_. 

As she led him from the Nest across silken rope bridges and ladders, chirping away about the function of each room and absently swirling a claw in the palm of his hand, he was seized by the sudden overwhelming sensation that the world was an ill fitting shirt, for which no change of clothes existed. Something nibbled at the edges of his consciousness, pecking tenaciously at his already damaged supply of hope. He dug and scraped at the debris of his mind until he finally found what he was looking for.

Hugo Oak did not recall giving Sofi his full name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Owls, spiders, what's the difference?


End file.
